I’m ramping off a 10 year medically induced happy place because I want to.
Well, not ramping, more like arms to the sides luging - no helmet.
The M.D’s eyes widened a professional millimetre. “ I usually like
to support the transition off meds with supplements.” Dr. Kathy is
a beautiful woman of inscrutable Chinese age. She also prescribes
me Xanax so I love her.
I said I was fine as long you didn't count the dizziness, electric skull buzzing
and the fact that I’ve spent the last week sobbing over kittens on Pinterest.
“Taking three to six months tapering off anti depressants is more
usual, she said, "especially ones like yours with a short half life.”
Had I bothered to google, this would be known, but the anti-everything
diet makes me feel invincible. I'm growing gills with the amount
of fish oil on board.
Dr. Kathy says feeling this good after such a short time could be a honey moon
period, so if I have a fight with myself the Xanax will come in handy. I’m
about ready for a fight. The chocolate, caffeine and milk products were
easy to cut, but I dream in pizza.
I am also angry. Fist through the wall angry. Angry gets me up and out
walking every morning, doing my shoulder rehab exercise and eating
my quinoa and kale. It cleans the house and picks out random bits of dirt
in tiny corners. It curls my lip at babies and flicky-haired girls
with over large handbags.
I want to hurl a Molotov into the studio and never make another thing
again. I want to hop off the hamster wheel of Facebook and not measure
my worth in likes, followers or comments, and I will toss the bathroom
scales in on top of the pyre and zumba while it burns.
I will make a swiss water method de caff soy latte because that’s part
of the anti -everything diet. I will chew on kale and laugh as the scales melt
because I wont be reminded the anti-fun diet resulted in zero weight loss
even though Don has trimmed 5 kilos and was only on it to shake
his pom poms for me.
With the hindsight of the truly self absorbed, I tell myself these
emotions are all part of the luge. I liked the last ten years in a pharmaceutical
happy place. A relieved bargain struck with Pfizer where they bought
the panic attacks and I sold the joy of dawn over Culburra beach and
my sex drive. The anger is strong, and it's swimming toward the light
to gulp air and splash to shore.
Better than sobbing kittens.
I know the hard bit's over.
I just wish there was pizza.
Once my shrink observed I hadn’t shed one tear or gotten angry throughout
our entire 18 months work together, even though there was plenty to be
sad and angry about.
That was 16 years ago.
I think there’s some tingling in the extremities because I can feel things.
Things I can’t block out with chocolate or pills to the happy place.
It’s going to be another adventure, much like the jerky carts through
the dark on the ghost train when you were a kid. And if you see a headline
that says crazed woman holds up pizza place, you’ll know it was me.